Birth
by TellMeMore90
Summary: Why Sherlock and not William. William Sherlock Scott Holmes has issues. He has already lost his beloved big brother Mycroft to boarding school and his new best friend, an odious creep called Charles. Then he lost his Mummy and Daddy to his new, as yet un-named baby brother. (Part 1 of the Trefoil series)


**Written with love and gratitude to ACD and the BBC Sherlock team**

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_**From the point of view of William Sherlock Scott Holmes, pirate. Aged 5**_

It was dark. So dark that he wasn't sure if he'd actually opened his eyes at all. He lay still in the darkness trying to understand why he was suddenly awake and frightened …. yes, the shallow breathing and zing in his blood told him he was afraid. He listened, trying to hear anything in the darkness. There were muffled noises from somewhere deep in the house, but nothing in his own room. He fumbled for his teddy, turning it until he could unzip the pouch in its back. Sleeping with a stuffed animal was not something he would normally choose to do, but it was a gift from his Aunt, supposedly for keeping his pyjamas in during the day when he didn't need them. He found it much more useful for hiding his notebook for his experiments, a crayon and a small torch. It was the torch that his tiny fingers now closed around.

A quick flick and he had light. The narrow beam swept around the room confirming his deduction. His room was undisturbed.

Still feeling the buzz of fear, he thought to leave his room and cross the corridor to his usual source of comfort. Mycroft had always been the one to hold and calm him when he was upset or afraid. A burst of temper drove the fear to the edges of his mind as he recalled that his brother's room was empty, as it had been for the last four months. Mycroft had left to go and stay with boys his own age and to have fun at a stupid boarding school.

When Mycroft had first prepared to leave, William had wept and clung to his brother, believing the promises that Mycroft would be back before he knew it. Back for Christmas with presents and games and interesting stories for his little brother. It was an eternity of loneliness and anticipation waiting for Mycroft to come back. When he did he brought another boy with him. A hateful, mean boy who took all Mycroft's attention and sneered at William's attempts to play with them. He had hissed at William to "sod off you little freak" when William had asked this blackguard where his brother was. Before he knew it, Mycroft and Charles were off to school again and William was still alone. He had hoped they would wait until after his birthday, but Mycroft had left just after New Year. He had left a present for his little brother though - a wooden cutlass and an eye patch to go with his pirate hat.

Now William was alone, in the dark, with an unknown fear and no-one to turn to for comfort.

A muffled scream of pain suddenly rang out through the house. Fear again spiked in the five year old as he realised the scream was from his Mummy. Tears stung his eyes as his fingers tightened on the torch and the door knob of his bedroom door.

He was brave, he was a pirate and if someone was hurting his Mummy he would save her. He opened the door and shone his torch down the corridor. Seeing no-one he darted back into his room to grab his cutlass. He knew it was only made of wood and of little use against scurvy knaves, but was the only weapon he could easily lay his hands on so would have to do. Mummy needed him.

Following the spot of light from his torch he made his way down the corridor and towards the far corridor and Mummy and Daddy's room.

As he crept quietly along the carpeted hallway, his mind raced over the possibilities of what could make Mummy scream. It couldn't be a monster under the bed, because only five months ago, William had proven that it was impossible for bed monster's to exist. He'd already proven to his own satisfaction that cupboard monsters where made up by big brothers to scare little brothers. He still wasn't quite sure about dark wood monsters, but he felt confident he would prove they did not exist soon too, and they definitely would not be scaring his Mummy in her bedroom.

He wondered where Daddy was and whether he was fighting off whatever was scaring Mummy. If he was he would need William's help. The little boy crept more quickly towards his parent's bedroom.

He was surprised that Nurse Abigail had not been woken by the noise. She had arrived to stay with them just two weeks ago, with her own set of rooms in the attic. "The old servant's quarters" Daddy had said. Daddy said that Nurse Abigail was going to stay with them for a while to help Mummy and that neither she, nor her room was to be disturbed by William and his constant explorations. Daddy said Nurse Abigail was a midwife and was not here to make William sandwiches and cups of juice.

William had asked his Daddy why he needed another wife, because he already had Mummy even if her tummy was big because of the baby. Daddy explained that a midwife helped mummies to deliver babies. Forestalling the question about why babies were delivered that he knew would be next out of William's mouth, Daddy explained that Mummy couldn't get the baby out of her tummy on her own and that Nurse Abigail would help with that and make sure Mummy and the baby were OK.

William accepted that, if Daddy said they needed Nurse Abigail, then he would put up with her, even if she did smell of aniseed drops and that fake flowery smell they put in clean clothes that even the bees hated. He stayed out of her way and ignored her as much as possible, especially as she insisted on pinching his cheek and making baby noises at him whenever she saw him. Once she had hugged him and ruffled his hair, asking if he was ready to be a big brother.

"But Mycroft is big brother, even though he is away at school … with Charles." Even at the tender age of five, William could imbue his words with appropriate levels of scorn.

"Awww, I know petal, Mycroft is your big brother, but that doesn't stop you being the new little one's big brother. Your job will be to help look after the little one and keep them safe."

"Safe is boring." William responded with the determined huff of a seasoned pirate.

"But petal, a little baby can't do anything on their own. They can't walk, or feed themselves. They can't even keep themselves snuggled under a blanket to keep warm. Big brothers are there to keep an eye on them and make sure they are comfortable, and to tell Mummy and Daddy when they cry or need their nappy changing, just like I'm sure Mycroft used to do for you."

William allowed his face to show appropriate levels of haughty disgust "I have never needed my nappy changing."

Nurse Abigail gave an indulgent smile and said "Of course not dear" before giving his hair a final ruffle, dislodging his eye patch in the process, as she turned and made her way to the sitting room and Mummy.

As he neared the door of his parent's bedroom in the darkened corridor, he hoped that whatever was making his Mummy cry out wasn't hurting the baby or his Mummy.

As his hand reached for the door knob he startled as another pained scream rent the air from behind the old oak door.

"Come on now love, nearly there. One more good push and you're done." Nurse Abigail was in the room with his Mummy and whatever was making her scream.

"You're doing so well Darling. You're nearly there. Our precious one is almost here. You're so brave."

Daddy was in the room too. He wasn't fighting whoever was making Mummy scream. And they were waiting for the arrival of their precious one.

Suddenly the pieces all fell into place. Mummy, Daddy, Nurse Abigail and the precious one arriving meant that the baby was being delivered. That Mummy and Nurse Abigail were getting the baby out of Mummy's tummy.

"Well done. He's here, and what a head of golden hair. Yes, it's a boy. Well done love. Give me a minute to get him sorted." Nurse Abigail again, followed by the sudden sharp wail of a small animal and Daddy cooing "Well done Darling. You did so well. And we have another boy. A precious little boy."

William froze. Thoughts raced through his mind. There was a baby, another boy, but this one was precious. Not a freak like William. Not an annoyance with his questions and experiments and adventures. Not someone who even Mycroft didn't want any more.

As he stood in the dark corridor, his fingers white knuckled and aching where he gripped the torch and cutlass so tightly, William felt something nasty well up in his throat. He felt a tightening in his chest and an uncomfortable feeling in his tummy, like he'd eaten too much rhubarb.

"Here he is my dears. You've done so well. A perfect little boy. Seven pounds three ounces, and a head of beautiful golden curls. I'll write up all the details for the registrar and give you some peace for a few minutes. Call if you need me. I'll just be in the bathroom cleaning up."

"Look Seger. Our own perfect little angel. I was so sure he was going to be a girl. Now we've got to decide on another boy's name." Mummy sounded tired, but happy. A bit like she did at the end of every summer when she'd finished her jam making and pickling and all the jars stood in glistening rows on the shelf while she rubbed her back and sank into her chair in the pantry with a cup of tea and a sigh.

"My love, he is beautiful. And so blond, just like his Mummy and her golden locks."

"Yes, such beautiful hair. It's such a shame we used Sherlock as William's middle name. It would have been perfect …"

William heard no more. The unfairness that he had been battling with began to build in the little warrior. He'd lost his brother who no longer wanted him, his brother's best friend called him a freak, he'd hardly seen his Mummy and Daddy for weeks and when he had everything was about the new baby. All the cook, the gardener and the cleaner talked about was the new baby. And that new baby had arrived and he was precious and golden and an angel. And now they wanted to take one of his names to give to the new baby. One of his names. HIS NAMES!

The rage and injustice burst out of him in a torrent of red faced screams. His parents startled as their bedroom door burst open and the diminutive harridan that was their middle son burst into the room, cheeks stained with angry tears.

"MY NAME IS WILLIAM _SHERLOCK _SCOTT HOLMES. I AM SHERLOCK. I. AM. SHERLOCK!" Then the tiny typhoon of outrage stomped back to his room shouting all the way "I. AM. SHERLOCK!" leaving two startled parents and a crying new born in his wake.

The following morning, Daddy entered his middle son's bedroom to find the boy curled tightly on his bed, his pillow and bed clothes tangled on the floor, the evidence of a tantrum of epic proportions.

Seger approached the bed as calmly as possible, quietly calling his sleeping son's name. "William, William. Time to wake up. William."

He touched his son's shoulder, eliciting a moan and movement from the huddled form. "Come on William. Time to get up."

"M'no'wlam" then a yawn and stretch.

"Sorry William, what did you say? Come on sleepy head. It's a big day today. Wake up."

The tiny form sat up, rubbed tired and tear crusted eyes with little fists then fixed his father with a piecing gaze. "I said I. am. NOT. William."

Daddy gave a nervous chuckle. "OK. So you're not William. So which pirate are you today? Blackbeard perhaps?"

"I am Sherlock."

"Good, right. The dread pirate Sherlock."

"No. I am _Sherlock._"

"Riggghhtt. Well, OK William. Breakfast is ready. Wash up and come on down."

"I. Am. Sherlock." But Daddy had already left his son's bedroom.

Sherlock arrived in the dining room freshly scrubbed and dressed. Cook had laid out his breakfast. Daddy was already there, bacon and eggs on a plate before him, reading his paper and drinking his coffee. Noticing his son taking his seat at the table, Seger refolded his paper, setting it down on the table. He leant forward, steepling his fingers upon his chin as he considered his son.

"I have good news. Your baby brother arrived last night. He's upstairs with Mummy now. As soon as you've finished your breakfast you can come up and meet him."

"He can't have it." The words were muffled by the remains of a mouthful of toast and honey.

"Sorry. Can you repeat that?"

The boy set down his toast with deliberate precision then glowered at his father.

"I said he can't have it. S'not his. It's mine."

"Sorry William. Who can't have what?"

"I am Sherlock. It's my name and he can't have it. You gave it to me and I will not let you take it away from me. IT'S MINE!"

"All right. Calm down Wil … err, Sherlock. We haven't taken it away. Why don't you come and meet your new brother and we can tell you his name."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, considering his father's offer.

"Alright." And he followed his Daddy upstairs to his parent's bedroom.

Mummy was sat up in bed, bolstered by pillows, with a tiny bundle cradled in her arms. Nurse Abigail was fussing in and out of the room with towels and bottles, but left them alone when the rest of the family arrived. Mummy smiled at her second son and offered him a view of his new little brother.

"William, If you're careful you can sit up next to me and see your new brother."

"M, not, Wilam." Mummy looked at Daddy in confusion.

"Apparently he's not William. He's Sherlock." Daddy explained with a small shrug.

Mummy still looked confused.

"Sorry Darling. It seems he may have overheard us discussing names last night. He seems to only be answering to Sherlock."

Mummy gave that little pinch lipped face that she showed when Sherlock had done something annoying and she was going to have to explain.

"We were only talking about it because Sherlock means bright hair in old English and would suit your baby brother."

"But I'm Sherlock." The boy's words were barely a whisper.

"Yes. Yes you are. You're my William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"Not William. Sherlock. Only Sherlock."

Mummy again looked at her husband, then chose to ignore her son's outburst, feeling it was best to let it blow over and offer the distraction of the new baby.

"Here. I want you to meet your new baby brother. His name is Linley Safford Rhys Holmes. Would you like to say hello?"

"Not Sherlock?"

"No darling, not Sherlock. That's you. He's Linley. If you've washed your hands you can hold out your finger for him to hold. That's right, just there next to his hand."

Sherlock was rapt as the tiny hand closed around his outstretched finger. "His fingers are so tiny. And he has little finger nails. What colour are his eyes? Are they like mine?"

"No dear not yet. A baby's eyes change colour over the first few months so we won't know what colour they are for a little while yet. He'll mostly be sleeping, eating and crying at the moment until he gets a bit older. So, you'll have to be quiet and careful with him. We don't want him to get hurt."

Sherlock looked affronted. "I wouldn't hurt him!"

Daddy stepped forward. "So you're going to be his big brother then?"

Sherlock looked at the little form and came to a decision "Yes. I will look after him and make sure no-one hurts him. Always." It was his first vow.

"I'm very proud of you William."

"Not William. Sherlock."

"Well then, we're very proud of you, Sherlock."

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**I imagine the third Holmes brother being played by Laurence Fox (Sgt James Hathaway in 'Lewis')**

**According to the interweb, in Old English Linley means field of flax, Safford means willow ford, and Seger means the sewarrior. I used Rhys as one of Mummy's family names.**


End file.
